


Beast of Prey (a.k.a. Predator and Prey)

by dustandroses



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Community: tamingthemuse, Episode Related: s01e06 The Pack, Ficlet, Hyena!Xander, M/M, POV: Spike, Possession, preslash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-12
Updated: 2015-05-10
Packaged: 2018-03-22 11:45:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3727639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dustandroses/pseuds/dustandroses
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Xander-bloody-Harris wasn't quite who he seemed to be...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Predator and Prey

**Author's Note:**

> The story takes place in some vague Season Five place, but the only real spoilers are for Season One: _The Pack_.  
>  **ETA:** Yes, I did recently change the name of this story. Read Chapter Two for further information.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Prompt Notes:** Inspiration for this chapter taken from the Live Journal community Tamingthemuse prompt: #455: Smirk

When did Xander Harris learn how to smirk? 

Spike got a lot of harassment over _his_ smirk. He used it often, to keep people on edge – uncertain of his intentions. With that bleeding chip in his head, he was limited as to his actions, but even this little bunch of do-gooders he’d got thrown in with flew into a flutter when he launched his world-famous smirk.

He may not have the ability to see himself in any reflective surfaces, but he had no problem seeing the reactions of others when he gave them a sly smile, or a set of cheekbones to die for – and Spike was always quick to mention that many _had_. When the scent of musky want wafted his way, he knew that he still had it. Even if Spike no longer could, he knew that his _looks_ could kill.

Besides, he could still get up to a lot of trouble, even if he were no longer capable of draining his victims dry. Blood wasn’t the only thing of value one could obtain from a body, whether that body was dead, or alive. He did well enough; he kept himself in blood, smokes, and whiskey, and what more could a vamp ask for, right? Well, aside from sex. 

And that brought Spike right back to Xander-bloody-Harris, and that sexy smirk. The tight-fisted Watcher, or that whiny, little Slayer always managed to find something ugly to say when Spike let loose his smirk, but did they even acknowledge Harris’? Well, that might have something to do with the fact that Harris managed to keep his smirk under-wraps until he was alone with Spike. And what was _that_ all about, anyroad? 

Spike did have to admit that the look was appealing; he always had been a sucker for dark hair, and dark, expressive eyes. The problem was, the smirk gave Harris the look of a predator, and while Spike was more than a little attracted by the idea of being pursued by an equal, he had never even imagined that Harris might have what it took to give him a good run for his money. He didn’t even mind being the quarry, as long as the end result was a good buggering, and not a dusty fatality. 

They were on the usual gang-bang they laughingly called a patrol. Everyone was working together tonight, due to the size, and quantity, of the demons they were hunting. It was going to be a tough fight, and Spike was looking forward to it. He couldn’t wait to rip the head right off one of these buggers, and shove it down the thing’s throat – even if he’d have to wait until it bent over before he could reach its neck. 

It was a good night for a little plunder. His senses were all on edge. He could tell that he was being watched. Harris had given up the chatter that the Slayer and her groupies usually engaged in, and he’d been dragging behind them all, making Spike look over his shoulder regularly to make sure nothing had gobbled him up while they’d randomly cruised the cemetery looking for trouble. 

Spike was, _under no circumstances_ , glancing behind himself to catch sight of the easy, loose-limbed prowl that Harris seemed to have developed overnight. That, and the slow, sexy smirk he kept throwing Spike’s way whenever no one else was looking, were about to drive Spike spare. It was enough to give credence to the whispers and rumors he’d heard about town that there was more to the boy than most gave credit to – a darkness that had lingered past its time.

When the economy-sized buggers they’d been hunting for finally found them, the fight was fierce and angry. The sexual heat Spike had built up exploded into rage, and he thoroughly enjoyed taking out more than his share of the wankers. He stopped in surprise to discover there were only two left. The Slayer was finishing off her opponent, and from the corpses scattering the ground around her, she’d held up her end of the fight. 

The surprise was Harris. He was working with an axe, and he moved smoothly, not a spare, flailing limb to be seen as he methodically dismembered his adversary before lopping off its head with a growl that sent shivers up Spike’s spine, and hardened his cock. The witches were all over Harris immediately, rightfully impressed with his new skills. He shrugged it off with a story about a friend on his construction crew that was teaching him a few moves. 

Spike half-heartedly grouched at the Slayer when she asked him to see Harris home, but the fact of the matter was there was no way Harris was getting anywhere near his apartment without old Spike tagging along for the ride. Spike lit a cigarette, and rolled his eyes while the bunch of them all hugged and squeaked their goodbyes at each other. Finally, the women bounced off towards their dorms for the night.

Once they were gone, Harris stared a challenge at Spike, who found himself straightening his spine, and adjusting the collar of his coat in response. With a smirk, Harris turned his back on Spike, and strode away, his axe propped casually on his shoulder.

“You coming?” he called.

Spike flicked his fag into the bushes, and headed off after Harris. “Hell yes, I am. More than once, if I’ve got anything to say about it.”

A high-pitched laugh echoed back at him, and Spike shivered as that thin, eerie sound sent another cold chill racing up his spine. Oh, yes. The night had just begun.


	2. The Beastie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Prompt Notes:** Inspiration for this chapter taken from the Live Journal community Tamingthemuse prompts: #456: Consanguineal, #457: Fugacious, #458: Twister, and #459: Kokopelli  
>  **Notes:** The story takes place in some vague Season Five space, but the only real spoilers are for Season One: The Pack.  
>  Thank you to everyone who asked for more of this story. I was happy to oblige. I'm rather pleased with how it turned out. I hope you are, too.  
>  **Final Note:** I started Predator and Prey as a oneshot, but it got so many requests for more that I decided to keep going. The problem was that I'd already posted the oneshot, and I didn't want to lose the comments, or the kudos. So I'm posting the rest as a second chapter. Hope I don't confuse anyone!

Harris headed away from his parent’s house, and Spike had to think twice before he remembered that only last week the man had moved into an actual apartment. He’d had some huge blow-up with his father that had resulted in blows, and he’d finally turned his back on the bastard once and for all. Harris Sr. was proof that sometimes your own flesh and blood needed a good knock about the head, but Spike hadn’t expected Harris to ever be man enough to follow through on it. That should have been a clue right there that there was something different about Xander Harris. 

Spike followed along behind him, not catching up, trailing along six feet back where he could get a good view of that tasty arse in motion. No wonder Harris had been following behind Spike all night. He remembered how the boy had slouched along in his oversized jeans when he’d been younger; when Spike’d kidnapped Harris and Red, he’d not been particularly impressed with the boy until he’d taken a peek or two while he’d been passed out. 

He didn’t usually grope them while they were unconscious. Spike took much more pleasure when his intended victim was actively involved in the seduction. But he’d carried the boy over his shoulder all the way back to the lair, so he’d got a nice handful. If he hadn’t been pining over Dru at the time, he’d probably have tempted Harris into a dalliance, simply for the flavor of _both_ their blood. Red would have been delicious – hurt, and jealous over his betrayal – and Harris’ blood would have been a bloody _treat_ with the flavors of his virginity, confusion, and lust. 

Spike licked his lips. He could almost taste it now. 

Harris turned around, and stood there hipshot, leading with his cock, which was bulging nicely through the fabric of his jeans. Spike pursed his lips, using his sharp cheekbones to nice effect, and getting another tasty smirk in response. He sauntered up to Harris, not stopping until he was well within his space, but Harris didn’t seem to mind. He grabbed Spike’s belt, and pulled him even closer, swaying up against Spike. The pressure was exquisite as their cocks met, and Spike gasped as his hard-on complained about the tight confines of his bloody jeans. He ignored it; a little pain was a good thing, especially when the payoff promised to be well worth it. 

Harris pushed him back against the brick of the storefront they’d stopped in front of, and Spike stumbled backwards, hitting the wall hard. Harris pressed up against him, a full-body rub that had Spike reaching for a handful of that arse. He’d only got one squeeze in before Harris grabbed his hands, wrapping his long, callused fingers around Spike’s wrists and pulling them up, over his head. A typical alpha dog-type response, but not one Spike was prepared to allow – yet. 

If he gave in without a fight, that wouldn’t say much for him, now would it? Besides, Spike wasn’t really sure Harris had it in him to master a Master Vampire. He was going to have to show Spike more than a clichéd move like that one. Spike pushed Xander away from him, or he _tried_ to, rather. They didn’t actually move, which surprised Spike, and intrigued him. This was shaping up to be even more interesting than he’d thought.

The high-pitched laugh still sent a shiver through him, but the eerie green glow that flashed in Harris’ eyes threw him for a loop, and Harris pressed his advantage with another full-body rub. He snuffled behind Spike’s ear, taking a deep breath of Spike’s scent, then bit Spike’s earlobe with sharp teeth, sucking the drop or two of blood he’d freed into his mouth with a hum of satisfaction.

Spike panted with desire – it had been a long time since anyone wanted to taste his blood. He _wanted_ this with a hunger that squeezed his insides, forcing him to face how desperate he really was for someone who wanted _him_ the same way. But he wasn’t giving in that easily. It took a concentrated effort, but Spike focused his will, and launched himself off the wall, forcing Harris back with him. Swiveling around, he trapped Harris against the brick, but only for a moment.

With another flash of green light in Harris’ eyes, he pushed Spike away. But before he could reverse their positions, Spike shoved him to the side. He’d been expecting some sort of resistance, but there was none, and Spike overbalanced. With a little direction from Harris, Spike found himself back against the same bloody wall once again, but before he could put up a struggle, Harris was pressed up against him, his tongue pressing into Spike’s mouth, and fucking it soundly. 

Now that was more like it. Spike challenged him for possession of the kiss, but Harris was insistent, and he decided to let him take over for now. He’d save his strength for when Harris was complacent, and then he’d challenge him again. Harris forced one hand between their bodies, palming Spike’s rigid cock, rubbing the zipper up against the sensitive head, and making his knees buckle with the fiery combination of pleasure and pain. 

When Harris broke the kiss, and bent his head to Spike’s neck, he was expecting a lick, or maybe a suck. What he got was a _bite_ , powerful jaws clenching as sharp teeth met sharp teeth through the flesh of his throat. A white-hot spark surged through him, igniting in him an intense rush of ecstasy. He bucked into Harris’ hand as he came, and Harris watched hungrily, licking the last drops of Spike’s blood from his lips.

When Spike felt strong enough, he shoved away from the wall, and Harris stepped back, smirking as Spike pulled his duster close, gathering the tatters of his self-respect around him. His legs were weak; it wasn’t often that he came that hard, and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d come in his pants like some school boy.

“Bleeding hell!”

Harris put his forearm to his mouth, and a moment later Spike smelled the delicious, heady scent of hot, human blood. His nostrils flared, and his eyes widened when he realized that Harris had bitten his own arm. He offered it to Spike who took it quickly, careful to not allow any of the precious fluid to escape. He’d missed this so much – the exquisite rush of hot vitality pouring over his tongue. He moaned as his cock sprang back to life; there was no greater aphrodisiac for a vampire than rich, human blood.

Not quite human, though. There was something different, a hint of wildness, feral and savage, that reminded him he wasn’t dealing with the same Xander Harris he’d known in the past. He liked it. He had no idea where this one would lead him, but there was a good chance that this Harris was one who might understand him in a way that none of the others of the Slayer’s crew could.

He bit his tongue and used the coagulants in his blood to stop the flow of Harris’. The blood was tempting, but it was only flowing from his arm, nowhere near a major artery. Besides, he wanted more than just a good meal, and he wasn’t willing to take the chance of losing what he’d found. Harris was watching him closely when Spike looked up from his arm. He didn’t seem at all surprised that Spike was capable of such restraint; he nodded, and turned away.

Spike followed. He wasn't sure where this was going, but he had a feeling he was going to enjoy the ride.

With the first rush of frantic need out of the way, Spike was caught between the flush of hot blood, the warm, lazy drowsiness of afterglow, and the roiling cascade of fresh arousal that the scent of Harris’ hungry need was stirring in him. Fortunately, they were close to Harris’ apartment, as the only thing annoying him at the moment was the cold, wetness in his jeans. 

He noted with humor that the sticky mess hadn’t stopped his cock from responding to the scent of Harris’ lusty ardor. As a matter of fact, when combined with the musky odor of his come, the aroma was flavorful, and quite appealing. 

Harris looked back over his shoulder with another smirk when he caught Spike focused on one particular portion of his anatomy. Well, if he was going to flaunt it, Spike couldn’t be blamed for admiring, right? That eerie green glow sparked at the edges of his pupils as Harris turned away, giving just a hint to whatever it was that lurked inside. Spike was beginning to think maybe a primal; that would fit with the signs he’d seen. But the primals he’d run up against in the past weren’t as willing as Harris seemed to fit into the mold of the human they’d been before. 

When they’d parted company with the Slayer and her groupies, Harris had transformed into the eager, little puppy that the others recognized as ‘normal’ – at least what passes for normal for Harris. The problem was that Spike was pretty sure that he hadn’t been faking it. It was as if the earthy, carnal beast he’d been keeping his eyes on all night had shifted, lingering only as long as the two of them were alone, then fading away when the puppy came out to play.

Spike climbed the steps of the apartment behind Harris, that delicious arse at the perfect height for his avid gaze. He couldn’t decide what he wanted to do first: bury his face between those cheeks and drive Harris to ecstasy, or swallow his cock down, and show the human how a vampire excels at giving head.

No time for small talk; as soon as Spike closed the door behind him, Harris was pushing him back against the door, invading his mouth with that hot, eager tongue. No timid, half-hearted _smooch_ for this one, Harris dove into the kiss with a growl that set Spike’s predatory senses on alert, and had his cock straining against his cold fly. Spike moaned, sucking on that insistent tongue to the rhythm of Harris’ fast-beating heart.

With a gasp, Harris pulled back far enough to look into Spike’s eyes. That green glow flashed, then faded away, and all that was left was the hunger that seemed to have accompanied Harris all evening. Hunger for Spike, and there was nothing that Spike liked better.

Harris wrapped his hand around the back of Spike’s neck, licking his lips greedily. He ran his thumb over Spike’s kiss-swollen lips. 

“Spike.” 

His raspy voice was as rough as sandpaper over Spike’s sensitive nerves, and he shuddered with pleasure.

“Suck my cock.”

Spike chuckled as he slid to his knees, and slid free the button on Harris’ jeans. That resolved Spike’s dilemma. He’d have to wait on devouring that ripe arse; he had a cock to suck. And what a cock it was - fat and hefty, with a lovely, well-shaped head. He was going to enjoy this. 

Taking a deep breath, he pulled in the aroma of lust, and hot flesh, earthy and sensual. He licked the crystal-clear drop hanging at the tip of Harris’ cock, savoring the musky flavor, then slid the tip of his tongue into the slit, earning a moan from the man above him. He worked the head, flickering his tongue around the rim, then concentrated on the bundle of nerves at the base. 

Harris rested his hands on Spike’s head, gasping, his fingers kneading Spike’s scalp as they clenched and unclenched, his hips shifting restlessly as he fought the instinct to thrust. He was farther along than Spike had thought, so he upped the pace, and started to suck. Just the head at first, but when that brought the first few aborted jerks of his hips, Spike wrapped his hands around those delicious arse cheeks, and guided Harris’ movements, letting him know it was all right to thrust.

It didn’t take long after that. Harris leaned his head against the door, holding tight to Spike’s head, his breath heavy and gasping as his hips pumped into Spike’s mouth. Holding his head back as far as he could with Harris’ fingers wrapped around his head, Spike adjusted his neck to let that fat cock push its way into his throat. That left his head cocked back enough that he could peer up along Harris’ body to his face, where those glowing green eyes stared back at him filled with lust, and what looked like longing.

The last thrusts pushed Spike’s head back against the door, but surprisingly enough, Harris had enough brainpower left to protect him, sliding his fingers between Spike’s head and the wooden door. 

Spike didn’t know whether to be grateful, or insulted that his oral skills had left Harris alert enough to focus on details when Spike had his lips around the man’s cock. He didn’t have much time to contemplate though, as Harris came, and Spike pulled back enough to get a spurt or two in his mouth. He wanted that flavor – wanted to remember this evening, in case there were no more like it.

He liked the sensation of Harris’ thick cock in his mouth, and he worked it between his tongue and the roof of his mouth, milking it for the few drops it had left. He could feel the pulse of Harris’ heart through the vein that lay on his tongue, and he watched his heaving chest calm as the beat slowed.

Harris stared down at Spike, who arched one eyebrow back at him, since with Harris’ hands clenched so tightly around his skull, he couldn’t possibly speak. The green glow flashed again, and Harris pulled away from the door, his fingers loosening to cup Spike’s head, freeing him enough to let Harris’ fat cock fall from his mouth. 

“If I ever need a gag for you, I think I’ve found the perfect one.” 

“You’re a bleeding riot, you are,” Spike said, and stretched his jaw to release the stiffness he’d begun to feel. 

Harris pulled him to his feet. “Come on. You need to get out of those sticky jeans, and I want to see you strip for me before I fuck you.”

It occurred to Spike that he hadn’t really put up much of a fight tonight. He’d simply rolled over and let Harris have whatever he wanted. Well, if he thought it was going to be that easy to bed Spike, that bloody bastard had better watch his own arse, or he might find out the hard way that he wasn’t the one doing the fucking.

* * *

Spike lay in bed lulled by the beat of Harris’ heart, the steady pace of his quiet breathing. He’d usually be up causing trouble at this time of night, but the bed was warm, redolent with the heady musk of their fucking, and the strong scent of whatever it was that Harris had become. He worried that this might be a temporary thing – this beast of Harris’ with the primal eyes – so he stayed close so as not to miss a moment of time with him.

He’d been thinking of the last week or so at the Magic Box, wondering if Red, or maybe the Watcher, had let loose some demon or other when they’d been whipping up some spell. If it had taken over Harris when they weren’t paying attention, as soon as they realized it was there, they’d do their best to find a way to get rid of it. Spike wondered if he could convince Harris to leave the Hellmouth and get out of the range of their fumbling good intentions, but if there was anything of the Scooby left in the man he’d never leave them. 

Spike wasn’t a loner. He hated the thought of going back to his cold crypt and spending his days alone. This primal-Harris had swept into his life and taken over in one evening, like a tornado or a hurricane, leaving a path of destruction behind him. He’d reminded Spike of the demon he used to be, and it hurt to think of him turning his back on Spike when the Watcher figured out what they’d done, and ‘fixed’ him. 

Perhaps he’d be better off leaving first. Harris had told him to stay tonight, but he didn’t owe Harris anything. He could leave, and save himself the hurt – save face when it turned out to be simply a mistake on Harris’ part.

He got up quietly, and hunted down his jeans and duster. The duster was in a pile by the door, and he fished out his smokes, sticking one between his lips while he sorted out his jeans. He found them by scent. He supposed he’d have to stay the night at least; Harris had promised to put them in with his own laundry in the morning – stiff, dried come was not comfortable on the todger. The jeans were half under the armchair Harris had fucked Spike over the back of, before he’d even got the things off properly. 

He laughed softly at the sight they must have made: Spike leaned over the back of the chair, jeans wrapped around one leg, the other barearsed naked, his shirt pushed up under his armpits to free his nipples. Harris had been completely clothed, his jeans unzipped only far enough to pull out his meat and two veggies. He’d obviously come prepared, he’d had a tube of lube in his pocket, a fact Spike had been unaware of until cool, slick fingers had slid up the crack of his arse. 

Getting his lighter out of his jeans, Spike lit up his smoke. He heading into the kitchen for the bottle of Jack Daniels he’d seen sitting on the counter when they’d passed by on their way to the bedroom. Lube in pocket, JD on the counter top – looked like Harris had planned this evening’s entertainment to the tee. He’d certainly had no qualms about inviting Spike in, or asking him to stay the night. Asked? More like demanded. He was a pushy devil, whatever he was.

Spike dropped onto the couch, put his feet up on the coffee table, opened the Jack, and took a long slug. There was no puzzle he couldn’t solve with whiskey, cigarettes, a little violence, and a couple of rounds of sex. Especially when the sex was extraordinarily good – and it had been. Harris’ demon girl had been right; he was a Viking in the sack. 

They’d made it to the bedroom for round two, and Harris had kept it going for a good long time. He suspected that some of that had been Harris’ beastie, but if it was a primal, as Spike suspected, he could only add so much to Harris’ own abilities. There were definite advantages it could bring to the table – strength, speed, agility, and no sickly-sweet conscience to get in the way – but it seemed that it wasn’t capable of overpowering the human in Harris, just tempering the Scooby with a dash of wicked. Spike liked that mix. It worked well for him. 

Spike was aware of Harris’ heart and breathing speeding up, and he took another hit of Jack as Harris padded into the bathroom for a whiz. When Harris walked into the living room starkers, Spike paused, hand halfway to his cigarette, to admire the view. His dark hair was a riot of messy curls, his dark eyes gazing just as hungrily at Spike’s naked form. Finally, Spike took one last drag off his ciggie, dropping the fag in a mostly empty fast food container sitting on the floor. 

He liked the dark suck marks he’d made up and down Harris’ torso. Spike’s favorite was the one half-hidden on the inside of his right thigh. They were already beginning to fade – Harris’ beastie healed faster than a human. Too bad. He liked seeing his marks on that handsome body. If the beastie healed Harris’ body, and gave him strength and agility, he wondered if perhaps he’d be considered non-human enough to take Spike’s teeth without the chip reacting. Oh, that would be a treat!

“You’re thinking too hard,” Harris said, his sleepy voice low and gravely, sending a chill up Spike’s spine.

“Well,” Spike said, “I suppose you ought to find a way to stop that, then, shouldn’t you?”

Harris approached slowly, his fat cock swinging with his movement, almost hypnotically. Spike swallowed, and raised his eyes back up to Harris’ face, to find another of those sexy smirks.

“Are you telling me what to do, Spike?”

He snorted. “I’m saying whatever it takes to get you over here fastest.” He let loose one of his own smirks, and let his gaze run down that luscious body and back again. “You ever been ridden by a vampire? No matter how good they are, humans run out of energy far too soon. I could fuck myself on that fat cock of yours for hours. How does that sound to you?”

Harris grinned wolfishly. “Where the hell did I put that lube?”

It looked like he wasn’t going to get any answers anytime soon, but that was all right. There’d be plenty of time later. Right now, he had a beastie to fuck.

* * *

Spike’s thighs were starting to shake. They were on round three since they’d moved to the couch, and Harris still showed no signs of stopping. Whatever his beastie was, it had as much stamina, and as quick a recovery time, as a vampire, and that was saying a lot. Harris had as much cock as Angelus, as well, and that was saying one _hell_ of a lot.

When he’d been a fledge, Angelus had often played the role of fertility/sex god, his two faithful servants worshiping his large cock for days at a time. Darla would roll her eyes, and leave the three alone until she was in the mood for a good fuck. Then she’d kick Spike and Drusilla out, and demand her rights as sire. The big lug was a sucker for Darla, and as soon as the bitch spread her legs he always capitulated, worshiping at her cunt for as long as she required. But once she tired of his cock and left, Drusilla would want her Daddy back, and where Dru went, Spike was sure to follow.

“What are you thinking about?” 

Harris’ voice brought Spike back to the present, and he moaned as Harris clamped his hands around Spike’s thighs, holding him down, with that fat cock deep inside him. Spike squirmed, finding just the right spot before settling. Perfect.

“I was thinking of myself as a fledge,” he said, “and the one who taught me how to do _this_.” Spike rolled his hips just right, smirking as Harris’ eyes closed on a breathy hiss. He’d learned his lessons well.

“Couldn’t have been Drusilla,” Harris panted, “so I’m guessing it was Angelus.” His eyes glowed green, and he snarled angrily. “You ought to know better than to talk about a past lover with my hard cock deep inside you.”

Spike laughed, not at all concerned at the implicit threat. “Jealous?” he teased, pleased as hell at the thought. “I don’t know why you should be, you’re twice the lover he ever was.” Harris’ hands loosened their tight hold, and Spike went back to work, lifting and falling, hips rolling as he moved, clenching and releasing as Harris bucked up against him.

“Oh, yeah?” Harris froze with his hips off the couch cushions, holding Spike up as he rotated his hips, pressed up against Spike’s sweet spot.

“Oh, yes. Just there…” 

Spike loved it when he did that. He didn’t know who Harris had learned the move from, but if he ever found out, he’d give them pretty much anything they asked for to pay them for the pleasure they’d brought Spike in the last few hours.

When Harris finally collapsed back to the couch, Spike was so blissed out on pleasure that it took time to remember he was supposed to be riding Harris’ cock. Eventually he went back to the rise and fall, roll and clench rhythm he’d grown used to. Pleasure on pleasure. If they ever found a way to get rid of Harris’ beastie, Spike was going to mourn the loss forever.

“So Angel’s not a good lover?” 

Spike grinned at the satisfaction he could hear in that question. That had been the _original_ Harris, not the beastie, he was certain of that. Harris had hated Angel from the first time Spike had met him, tucked up under Angel’s arm like the gift of a bottle of wine. 

“I wouldn’t know about _Angel_ ,” Spike replied, well aware of the way the Scoobies managed to separate the two. “I never fucked the soul. But Angelus? Well now that’s a different matter. He could be a good lover, when he wanted to, but most of the time, he didn’t even try. He’d get himself off, and expect you to do the same.”

“What a prick.”

Harris smirked as he put his hand around Spike’s cock, pulling the foreskin back so he could play with the exposed head with his fingertips. He’d told Spike earlier how much he liked the way the foreskin moved, and how jealous he was that it made Spike’s cock even more sensitive than a cut one. Spike’s hips stuttered when Harris ran his thumb across the bundle of nerves under the head, the cascade of sensations very like that of fireworks exploding in the back of his head. He hadn’t realized exactly how close he was to coming, but with just those simple moves of Harris’ hand he was ready to blow.

While he was still flying, shuddering through the sensations, Harris tipped him over, onto his back. His head was reeling, but that didn’t stop him from wrapping his legs around Harris’ waist, holding on for the ride. And it was a ride – fast and furious – his body thrumming with the pounding thrusts of Harris’ rhythm. Spike held onto Harris’ shoulders, his head back against the cushions, an offering in supplication to someone who came a lot closer to a sex god than Angelus ever could. He just hated the fact that Harris could never understand the significance of a vampire offering his throat to a human.

When the bite came, Spike wasn’t surprised; Harris had bitten him every time they’d had sex. And as usual, his body jerked heavily underneath Harris’ as his orgasm overtook him, pulling ragged breaths into lungs that didn’t need them. Harris hadn’t even slowed down, his back arching as he pumped steadily into Spike, a fat drop of sweat rolling down over his shoulder. What surprised Spike was the faint scent of blood that came with the sweat. Spike’s nails had blood under them. Harris’ blood.

Harris pulled his head back, licking up the last traces of Spike’s blood, in time to see Spike’s fingers, traces of his own blood on the nails. He grinned at Spike, glints of green sparkling in his eyes, and tipped his head to the side. 

“Do it, Spike!” he ordered, his hips pistoning raggedly as he neared his orgasm.

Damned if Spike needed to be told twice! He bit fast as a serpent, wondering if he should have bit lower in case his bite scarred, but that was his last conscious thought. The hot spurt of arterial blood hit the back of his throat, and his eyes closed in rapture. The taste flooded his mouth, his body jerking raggedly as he came once again, even while the first orgasm trembled in his muscles. He’d had Harris’ blood several times over the course of the night, but always from his arm, never from a major artery, and the flavor was overwhelming – rich and savory, with a kicker of a feral aftertaste from the beastie.

He wasn’t sure how long he drank, but when he felt Harris’ hand pushing him away, Spike bit his tongue and made sure the coagulants in his blood had stopped the flow before he pulled away. He took his time licking the last drops away, then sighed, flopping back onto the couch cushions. Harris slid off to the side, his eyes closed, still breathing heavily, obviously exhausted. 

Spike studied him for a moment, trying to figure out how much of Harris’ blood he’d taken. He looked slightly pale under his construction worker tan, but he was pretty sure the beastie could take care of that. 

He stretched out one leg, and hooked the black shirt that was hanging off the edge of the coffee table, pulling it up far enough to snag it with his fingertips. He wiped the heavy sweat off Harris’ face first, then saw to the copious amounts of come he’d managed to spray all over them both. He had come twice, after all, in a very short amount of time.

“What are you sniggering at?” Harris asked. He sounded affronted, as if Spike was laughing at his performance. Not bloody likely.

“Just never came like that before – twice in a row like that, I mean.”

One eye opened lazily, the other obviously too tired to make the effort. “Oh, yeah?” He sounded cocky, now. But Spike allowed him a little arrogance.

Spike stretched sensuously. “Oh, yeah.”

He liked the fact that Harris’ open eye followed his form as he stretched, one hand gliding up Spike’s torso in obvious contentment.

“Cool.” 

That was definitely the original Harris. The beastie would never say that – especially not with that slap-happy grin on his face. Spike decided this might be a good time to get his questions answered, since the beastie had changed the subject the one time Spike had brought it up before. Not that he’d complained. He’d got a couple of fantastic orgasms out of the deal. But he needed answers. Spike hated the possibility of losing this version of Harris. He wanted to know how much time he had left.

“So you knew that the beastie would make it possible for me to bite you?” he asked casually.

Harris sighed heavily, opening both eyes to glare at Spike. “You’re harshing my buzz, man.” He smiled fondly, and Spike got the idea he was quoting someone. Finally he gave Spike a shove with his shoulder. “If we’re gonna talk, I need a beer.”

Spike got up, and fetched them both one, rolling his eyes at himself. He probably could have talked Harris into getting them, since this was definitely still Harris talking, not the beastie. But he didn’t want Harris to get sidetracked, and this was the quickest way to get what he wanted. He grabbed some paper towels and cleaned up while he was in there. The one problem he had with being on the receiving end of fucking a man was the mess. 

When he got back from the kitchen, Harris was sitting up, his bare feet propped up on the table. Spike handed him a beer, and sat cross-legged on the couch next to him, one eyebrow cocked inquisitively. 

Harris took a big gulp of beer first. “Right.” He looked as if he was facing a jury of his peers, but Spike couldn’t help him with that; he had no idea what Harris was worried about.

“To answer your question: I had no idea that ‘the beastie’,” he said with parenthesis drawn in the air, “would have any effect on the chip. It wasn’t until I saw the blood on your fingers that I realized that you’d broken the skin.” He paused, brow squinched up as in thought. “No, that’s not totally true. I felt your nails, I just didn’t think twice about it. It felt good, you know? Just a touch of pain added to the pleasure.”

It was Spike’s turn to smirk. “Like that, do you?”

He expected Harris to blush, or stumble over an excuse, but he did neither, merely returned a smirk worthy of the beastie.

“Date Anya for a year, and even _you_ might learn a few things about yourself you never expected.” 

“Ah.” That made sense. She might not have understood humans all that well, but she had been around for over a millennia.

“It was only when you stared at your fingers with such a look of surprise that it occurred to me that the chip hadn’t gone off. That was when it hit me that the primal was obviously affecting my humanity.” He was frowning, but surprisingly he didn’t seem as upset as Spike would have expected at that admission.

“You look as if you’re not sure how you feel about that, Harris.” 

Now that got Spike a glare. “We’ve had sex more times than I care to think about, Spike,” he said with a hint of a snarl. “Call me Xander.” 

“Ooh!” Spike decided to see how far he could push. “Picked up a bit of domination from the beastie, did you? Think you can order me around, then?”

Harris grabbed his chin tightly enough to hurt, and forced Spike to look into his eyes. He swallowed heavily when he realized that bit of teasing had sparked an angry response in Harris. He was pretty sure this _was_ Harris, and not the beastie, there was no green in his eyes, just angry brown.

“I don’t like your attitude, Spike,” he said softly. “Remember this: Anya may have been the one to suggest the handcuffs, but I was never the one wearing them.”

Spike got his point. The original Harris may have acted like a goofy sidekick, but when he was in the bedroom, he was the one in charge, and he obviously had been, even without the beastie. He nodded, and Harris let go, relaxing into the couch once again.

“Sorry.” It stuck in his craw to apologize to a human, but then this wasn’t just a human, was it? There was a primal in there, too. Primals were nasty sons of bitches. That wasn’t so bad. There was no shame in acknowledging your place in line behind a beastie like that. 

Spike took a drink of his beer before speaking again, hoping he could turn the subject to something with less potential for anger. “A primal, you said?”

Harris shrugged, as if forgetting the tenseness of a mere moment ago. “When I was a sophomore, we took a field trip to the zoo. I stumbled into the middle of a spell summoning a _spotted_ hyena primal.”

Harris had stressed the type of hyena, which Spike thought was odd. “What difference does it make if it’s spotted or not?” he asked. “They’re all alike, aren’t they?” He’d seen any number of them following their trail when he and Dru had traveled in Africa, sniffing after their garbage.

“It makes a lot of difference,” Harris insisted. “The brown ones and the striped ones are only scavengers, but not the spotted ones. Not that the spotted ones wouldn’t take advantage of a free meal if they found one, most animals will, but for the most part, they’re hunters. If they were any larger, lions would have a serious fight for who was king of the desert, but even so, lions are careful around them, and kill them when they can. Spotted hyenas are dangerous, and deadly.”

When he’d started talking, Harris had been animated, gesturing widely, his eyes bright with excitement, but that last sentence was spoken low, and Spike realized that he couldn’t tell if it was the primal speaking or the man. 

“Who’s that talking, then? The beastie, or Harris?” One glare and Spike realized his mistake. “The beastie, or _Xander_?”

“We’re both in here, Spike. There’s no separating us now.” The green sparked around the edges of his irises as he spoke.

“Yeah? How’d that happen? He hasn’t been in there all this time, I’m pretty sure of that.”

“She’s been around. She was just tucked down under me since the spell that got rid of the others.” Xander rolled his eyes when Spike stared at him in confusion. “There were five of us that all got primals at the same time.” He jumped in before Spike could do more than open his mouth. “No. No one else you know got one.”

“That’s too bad. I’d love to see a primal Slayer.” Spike couldn’t help but laugh at that thought. “Wouldn’t that be a kick in the pants?”

Xander shuddered. “Not while the primal was in charge. I was a real bitch when the primal in charge, Spike.”

“He’s not in charge now?”

“She,” he corrected Spike. “She was the alpha, and she was _mean_. I made Willow cry!”

“Oh, dear!” Spike joked. “Can’t have that!”

Xander gave him a backhand across the arm that stung like hell. 

“Hey! That hurt!”

“Oops.” He smirked, then drained his beer. “I forget my own strength, sometimes.” 

“I guess so.” Spike wasn’t sure he understood all this, but there was only one thing he _needed_ to know. “So how do you know they can’t get rid of him – I mean her. The primal, that is.”

“I don’t know what Giles was working on last week, but I felt the moment the spell ended, and it felt like something clicked into place that had been missing until then. I did some research, and I’m pretty sure that we’re bonded now – blended together. I don’t think they could separate us without doing serious damage to us both.”

“Yeah, well we’ll make sure of that,” Spike said. There was no way they were going to take his beastie away from him. He set his empty bottle on the table. “I know a mage or two in town. We’ll talk to them, make sure it’s permanent. I like you just the way you are.”

No green gleam sparked in Xander’s eyes, but he recognized the hope he saw there, and Spike was surprised to realize that hope was tied to _him_. There weren’t many people who trusted Spike these days, but it looked like Xander might.

“You don’t care if it’s both of us in here, not just your ‘beastie’?” Xander bit his lip, worried at what Spike might say.

That surprised Spike. “ _Your_ beastie, you mean. And no, I don’t mind. I’ll admit, it might be nice if I could take advantage of the lack of a soul to get you to kill my meals for me…”

He saw the horror in Xander’s eyes, and finished the sentence before he could say anything. “...but I know that’s not going to happen. I’ll just have to make do with having a wicked partner, instead of an evil one.”

He knew he was taking a chance, staking a claim, so to speak, on Xander, but he wanted this. Wanted it badly.

When that goofy Xander grin spread over the man’s face, Spike felt the tension bleed from his body. Obviously that was acceptable to both. Xander pushed him back onto the couch, and landed crouched over him, his eyes glimmering greenly. 

“Now, I think we need to talk about that attitude problem of yours, Spike,” he murmured sternly.

That was more like it. What the hell, if he was already in for it, he might as well make it worth the punishment. “You think you can take me, _Harris_?” he asked with a smirk. 

Xander’s eyes blazed solid green. 

Spike felt a shiver run up his spine. Bloody hell yeah! It looked like things were picking up for old Spike.


End file.
